agirllost | Lunch with Dad

Behrooz not giving a clear answer? How unexpected.

"If it was definitely permanent, though, she likely would have said so. This has got to be pretty awkward, sweetheart."

She's absolutely not telling him about the most uncomfortable parts.

"A little," she understates, "but, much better than the alternative."

Having a friend slightly in your head is nothing compared to having to live with the memory of them bleeding to death and being powerless to save them.

She glances down, knowing her dad would understand that feeling only too well. "If for some reason you ever can't find me, Behrooz will know where I am and if I'm okay." She tries to put a positive spin on the news.

"Yeah," he says softly, rubbing his forehead for a moment. "And you'll know how he is."

"Yeah, I will." She's silent for a moment. "So how did moving in go?"

"Pretty good," he says with a shrug. "I didn't have that much to move, and most of it I just moved into our suite at the bar and moved it to the new place from the bar when I got it to L.A. so I didn't have to worry about hiring anyone. Still have to unpack, though."

"I guess the bar would put a lot of moving places out of busisness." She smiles slightly.

"You still have some things at our house, if you wanted to pick them up, I'm sure that Chase could help." Being almost married means she can volunteer him for errands.

"Sure, though I should probably get some stuff put away first, before I start bringing more boxes in the house. By the way, what do you want for lunch?" he asks, nodding to the hot dog cart and getting to his feet. There are a few things they still need to talk about but he'd rather have at least a couple minutes it relax first; and to discuss things on a full stomach.

"I wasn't just talking about boxes...but I think Chase has gotten kind of attached to the chair."

She looks up at him, "Dad, you know the answer to that question," she smiles and takes a moment to enjoy the feel of the sun against her face and the smell of the sea breeze that she misses when at the bar.

"Well there's what you want on your hotdog, what drink you want..." he says with a slight smile. "I'm paying, give me your order."

She pretends to think, but has known exactly what she wanted for a while. "Chili dog with the works, a diet coke, and an order of fries."

There's a reason she took that extra exercise class this morning.

"So you're getting a salad, right?"

"I don't think they have salad, sweetheart. I'll give up the chili and the cheese, though," he says, lifting his feet over the seat of the picnic table.

"I was just kidding," she says. "You could get the chili."

He shakes his head as he steps back from the table. "If I don't get the chili or the cheese, then I don't have to feel guilty about getting more fries."

Heading over to the hotdog stand, he places their order and returns a couple minutes later, laden with food. "There you go, the finest in street meat."

It's not that funny, but she giggles anyway, noticing that he's finally started to put back some of the weight he lost. "I never feel guilty about fries," she calls to him as he's walking away.

While he's gone, she stares off at the water and listens to the teenagers walking up to stand in line behind him. The girl and boy holding hands aren't so much younger than Behrooz but they might as well be from another universe.

Luckily, the stand owner is fast and her dad returns quickly.

She reaches to help him with the burden of too much food. "Street meat? You make it sound so appealing."

He shrugs. "It's a hot dog. It's made of chicken lips, what do you expect?"

"Chicken lips?" She picks up her overflowing hot dog and takes a bite, missing part of the top layer of chili and feeling cheese spill onto her hand. She puts down the hot dog and tries to chew as neatly as possible.

"I haven't had one of these in so long," she says when she can speak again.

"Mmm, me either," he says, licking ketchup from his fingers. This is going to be messy. "Which my cardiologist would probably say is a good thing."

She licks a smear of cheese from the side of her hand and eats a french fry. "But your other doctor said you needed more fat in your diet."

"Not that much, and probably not the kind of saturated fat I'm getting from this stuff," he says, munching on a fry. "He wanted me to get carbs more, and to build my muscle mass, not fat."

"How is that going? Did you get to the gym yet?" She takes a sip of soda.

He shakes his head as he swallows. "Haven't had a chance to check them out and get a membership yet. I was hauling boxes and going up and down the stairs at Milliways this morning; that's enough exercise for one day, I think."

"I guess that could count as weight lifting," she picks up her hot dog and takes another bite, feeling more than seeing some of the toppings fall on the plate.

"Doesn't Chris's - I mean your place - have a fitness room?"

"Well it has a pool, but I don't think the fitness room is very big. Might be useful if I want someplace close to home, but it'd be nice to go to a place with an indoor track and more machines."

He shrugs. "Depends on whether I can find a place I like, too."

"You have high standards when it comes to gyms?" Kim asks, taking another sip of soda. "I kind of thought they were all basically the same around here."

"Well I prefer that it's pretty well-lit and doesn't smell like a locker room, for one," he says, wryly.

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